Aftermath
by notSoAnonymous131
Summary: The end is the beginning, and when the dust has settled Monroe seeks redemption with Charlotte reluctantly leading the way. (Oneshot set after Monroe escapes the bounty hunters and Charlie agrees to lead him to Miles.)


A/N: This has been sitting on my computer for awhile and I figured I might as well post it.

Disclaimer: I own none of Revolution or it's characters.

* * *

 _And I won't l die alone, And be left there_

 _Well I guess I'll just go home_

 _Oh God knows where_

 _Because death is just so full_

 _And man so small_

 _Well I'm scared of what's behind, And what's before_

 _~ After the Storm- Mumford and Sons_

* * *

He is anger.

He is anger and fear and longing and betrayal. He is a fear, so deep he can feel it as a physical sensation, closing up his throat, manifesting as empty space, dark and cold, where his soul is supposed to be- now too mangled and deformed, after all he's done, to fill him as it had before. He wonders, sometimes, where it went all wrong. But he knows. It wasn't one moment.

He sees them, sometimes: instances, like stills from his life's film. Big things: Emma, the baby, Miles leaving- the shove that finally tipped him over the edge of sanity. Smaller things: lying awake at night, not feeling safe enough to close his eyes, the look on Rachel's face as he threatened her children. He was lost for a while. He's slowly coming back. Ironically, losing everything – literally everything but his life– having been the catalyst to this change, this rebirth of himself. Or, parts of him, of the soul that still remains, damaged, but maybe not beyond repair.

Anger. It's above his sorrow and longing and hurt, simmering somewhere near the surface, always there to come to his defense. It's easily ignited –his anger. Especially by the mouthy blonde he's following, who seems to know just what to say to kindle it into ignition. But then, so is the longing –sucking at his insides more harshly as he's with her longer; swirling into the fear, and bringing with it the hollow echo of memories and loss. And there follows the anger. To protect him. To protect a heart that he's just now finding again.

He wanted to find Miles so he could regain a semblance of himself; find where it all went so wrong (though he knows) and find how he can fix it again. How he can begin to make up for all the sins he's committed –black marks against the pages of an already dark book. He wants his brother back. Things weren't always right when they were together, but at least he was sane. At least he wasn't drowning in his anger and guilt and fear.

Guilt. He tries to bury it beneath justification, beneath piles and piles of justification until it suffocates and dies. But it's always there somewhere, alive in some measure, lurking, despite his best efforts, in the shadows of his heart. He has had reasons, over time, for the things he has done, but those explanations now seem weak, after everything has fallen apart. They seem weak in comparison to the weight of the crimes he knows he's committed, and the guilt that eats at him won't be extinguished by shoddy justifications. They are crimes he can barely reconcile with who he knows he is, who he is now that he has nothing but memories that taste like ash on his tongue– and who he remembers himself to have been _before_. The only reason the guilt hasn't suffocated _him_ is because he knows he tried. He tried to do his best for the people depending on his leadership. He didn't always make the right decisions; he went down a dark path chased by his paranoia and enabled by his relative lack of a conscious when it comes to killing those he believes to be his enemy, and he can't deny that his love of power had played a part, but he had truly wanted to be a good leader for the people that followed him.

 _Did it ever occur to you, you sucked at your job?_

He can see her mocking expression and her words haunt him as they've done for a while now. Despite the ire they cause she's right. He knows she's right. He was never made to rule alone. He needed Miles. He needs Miles now.

Miles, who knows him better than anyone, perhaps even better than he knows himself. He needs someone to drag him back up, or to at least point him in the direction of where up is. He needs redemption. He needs something to do to make up for all the blood on his hands. He wants Miles, but lately he's been wondering if maybe he doesn't have to go so far.

The girl (woman, really) isn't nice, not at all, and yet…. He wonders how she does it- calming the emotions running rampant through him without really meaning to or even trying. She isn't nice (isn't pleasant, even, most of the time) but she's honest, and has a strange kind of clinging vulnerability he finds fascinating. She tries to hide it, and a lot of her innocence has died (mostly, he knows, because of things he's done). But there's this openness in her eyes when she talks sometimes, quelling behind her pupils, shining past the harshness of her tone or brutality of her words. Maybe it's because she's honest and so a part of him senses he can take her at face value. Brutal, but honest. More than he can say for most people. Or maybe that's his paranoia speaking and he doesn't really know how most people are. He's certainly been wrong before. Another thing that will take time to work out in his mind.

He enjoys the way she talks to him. Enjoys the way her eyes flash when he retorts and she bites back just as harshly. Because, though she's brutally honest, she's never cruel. Not really. And God knows she has enough motive and, more likely than not, ammunition to really hurt him. But she doesn't. Whether from something within her that has remained kind despite the vicious realities of her life, or a fear of his violence if pushed too far, he can't say. But he likes to think the former. She doesn't seem to fear him. Though, she knows he wouldn't kill her. Not when he wants to win Miles back. But still, the things she says to him. He smiles.


End file.
